


Wavering

by russianwinter013



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Animated, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dementia, Explicit Gore, F/M, Hinted Possession, M/M, Masochism, Mental Instability, Multi, Sadism, Torture, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russianwinter013/pseuds/russianwinter013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dreams have been plaguing me for quite some time. I never know where they come from, or what triggers such nightmares. But I need to find out. There are disturbing messages, ones that only cloud my judgment and sane reasoning. And, for some strange reason, I feel as though they will give insight to my muddied past. But I have yet to know or understand why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a quiet, cool orn. The weather on Earth was pleasant, cool with a slight breeze. It was nice and quiet.

At least, it was outside.

The Autobot base was full of noise, ranging from frenzied whispers to outraged snarling and cursing to irritated groaning. It was enough to give any mech or femme a massive processor ache.

Prowl stood at the head of the meeting room, wings spread in a neutral position as he stared coldly at the rambunctious mechs and femmes before him. Optimus flanked him, battle mask making it impossible to tell what the enormous mech was feeling.

Jazz tapped his claws against his armor impatiently, baring pointed dentia as he glanced over at the two larger mechs. "Shouldn't we call fer order? We ain't got time ta be dealin' with this slag."

"We did call them in for a meeting at an uncomfortably early hour," Optimus rumbled, watching as Arcee began to curse at Hound while Sunstreaker watched with cruel disinterest. "They are expected to react in such a way."

"They must become acclimated to such conditions." Prowl spoke, his voice icy and detached as his gaze was locked onto a datapad that contained the schematics of an invention Perceptor wanted approved. "These mechs and femmes can hardly be called adequate soldiers. They may get the job done, but with their significantly increasing amount of recklessness and disregard for the obvious authority, they have much work to do."

"Yes, but we cannot rely so heavily on them for things," Optimus countered, shifting his considerable weight from one pede to the other. "We are expected to lead."

"I was never implying that we were not." The Praxian's optics flicked up, amber pools of fire that held no noticeable irritation. "They need to get their act together and stop acting like they were sparked yesterday." Not giving the mech a chance to respond, he cleared his vocalizer and spoke in a thundering voice. "That is enough!"

The chaos immediately froze. Jazz muttered something in approval as he leaned against the back of the chair that was before him, his talons tracing against the metal of the chair. Beside him, Optimus and Prowl stood tall and strong assuming the specified position of leaders.

"We expect the entirety of you to be seated and quiet when you see us waiting." Prowl's voice rang with a clear and cold efficiency as he flicked his wings. "This will not be tolerated any further as of this moment. Refusal and failure to comply with this understanding will result in time spent in the brig. Do you understand?"

There was a murmured acquiescence as the mechs and femmes all nodded.

"Good." With a heavy vent, the Second in Command motioned with a servo to a mech standing in the back of the room with a datapad clutched in his servos. The mech nodded in confirmation and onlined the datapad, and in response a hologram appeared over the table of a map of an area near their base.

"An Energon signal has been located at one of the supposedly abandoned Energon mines under the jurisdiction of the Decepticons." Prowl flared his wings wide behind him cold golden optics fixed on the holographic screen before him. "We understand that this may be nothing but a fault in our detection systems—and if it is, then we are currently working to fix the problem—but we have decided that investigation of this matter is crucial in case our enemies have decided to increase their dwindling amount of energy."

Jazz stepped forward, visor burning bright. "Mirage, Hound, and the Twins'll run a recon mission out front in order ta make sure this ain't nothin' but a trap. Should there be any concern, the rest o' ya here will be called outta yer posts ta serve as backup."

Hound shifted in his seat, hesitantly clearing his vocalizer. "Sir, Mirage isn't here."

"And where is he?" Prowl demanding, crossing his servos over his broad chest. "He is expected to attend."

"Apparently, he was not feeling up to attending a meeting." Tracks spoke up, his clear and smooth, accented voice ringing strongly in his usual arrogance. "Perhaps he had one too many a night at the bar."

Hound's engine growled as he glared at the winged mech. "Mirage doesn't drink, and you would know that if you didn't have your helm buried in a bottle every orn."

"I say, is that any way to speak to a comrade?" The navy blue and crimson mech grinned coldly, golden optics burning. "We must get along somehow."

The forest green mech growled, beginning to rise from his seat. But before he could snap any further at the elite mech, a deep baritone voice rang throughout the room.

"Hound, Tracks, that is enough." Optimus' presence in the room was nearly overwhelming, his powerful electromagnetic field rippling wide. "All of you will either calm down and behave like the adult mechs and femmes you are or all of you will work overtime shifts without your consent. We understand that you all were woken at an ungodly hour, but this type of behavior is unacceptable." The red and blue mech fixed his gaze on Hound. "We will contact Mirage after the meeting. Without a valid reason he cannot miss a meeting."

"What will we do if we find out that the mine does contain Energon deposits?" Sunstreaker spoke, his optics still locked onto his sketch pad. His helm was tilted to angle his wickedly sharp audio horns at the Prime. "Are we going to take it all or are we going to blow it?"

"That'll depend on the state o' those who're scoutin'," Jazz replied, visor twinkling with a dark light. "If ya're fine, then we'll take as much as we can. If ya aren't, then we'll send in reinforcements and blow tha mine once ya're through tha bridge."

"Those who we assigned major roles in the reconnaissance mission will be expected to be in the main bridge room at eleven hundred hours, Earth time," Prowl rumbled. With a flick of his wings, he turned and fixed his cold glare on each mech and femme before him. "You are dismissed."

* * *

I sat, shivering, on my berth, my servos wrapped around my torso as I rested my helm on my drawn up knees.

My processor was aching tremendously, sending relentless stabs of pain through me every time I moved.

It has been plaguing me for quite some time. The processor aches and overall pain, that is. Today was worse than the others; usually I was able to hide the acid fire that ran through me, but I was not so sure that I would be able to today.

An incessant beeping sounded in my audio receptor, making me groan involuntarily in pain. Steeling myself for a painful conversation, I brought a shaking servo up to brush over my communications link. "This is Mirage."

 _"Ya were absent from tha meetin', mech."_ The smooth, suave tenor of my commander sounded.  _"Ya know how Prowler hates tha'. He'll be houndin' ya fer info, 'specially since we need ya talents to complete tha mission we're schedulin'."_

"Ah..." I winced as my tanks decided to momentarily rebel against me, and I fought back the sudden impulse to purge. "I suppose that I should have known better."

 _"Ya alright, 'Raj? Ya don't sound so hot."_ Jazz's voice became stained with the weight of suspicion, and I growled internally. I couldn't have him wondering what was wrong with me.

My tanks lurched again, and it took me a moment to get them under control even as the faint taste of half-processed Energon rose in the back of my throat. It hadn't been a pleasant wait, if the rumbling growl of Jazz's powerful engine was any indication.

"I am fine, Jazz." I was surprised at how even my voice suddenly sounded, but I knew that I was far from okay. "I only have a mild processor ache."

 _"Hmm."_ There was a brief pause before the Polyhexian spoke again.  _"Well, get yer aft down 'ere. Prowler's 'bout ta blow a gasket, an' as amusin' as that'll be, Ah don't wanna have ta pick up the pieces after he crashes."_

"Very well. I will be there in a moment." Shutting off my communications link, I vented heavily and threw my legs over the side of the berth, wincing as a torrent of static momentarily overwhelmed my sensory network and a brief bout of nausea plagued my tanks. Forcing myself to my pedes, I fixed myself up in a decent and presentable manner and headed to the office of my commander.

* * *

Jazz perked up instantly from his upside down position in a chair when his audio horns caught the sound of approaching pedesteps. Judging by the feather-light brush of metal against the floor and the sheer grace of the steps, it was Mirage heading down the hall towards him.

But Jazz could not help but think that there was something wrong. Mirage's walk was...off. As if he were merely forcing himself to move, or as if he were in some sort of pain.

A knock sounded on the door before the Polyhexian could voice his concerns.

"Jazz, sir?" A smooth and cultured tenor sounded, accented lightly and barely audible through the thick and reinforced metal doors of the Third in Command's door.

"Come on in, Raj." The Polyhexian did not bother to sit upright as the door hissed open. From his current position, he could see the mech's heeled pedes and slender, elegant frame heading towards him.

"Jazz?" The pedes moved closer, stopping once they were at the edge of the desk. Jazz could feel the heat that the mech was radiating, more than likely a result of the former racer's engine running at full power. "May I ask what you are doing?"

With a determined huff, the silver-white mech flipped around and fixed his visor-covered gaze on the spy.

Mirage was standing there, almost unsteadily, as if his weight was distributed unevenly. The lights reflected off of his sleek armor, and his golden optics were dim and almost sickly looking. There was a pained aura around the former racer, and his electromagnetic field was pulsing wildly but revealed no emotion. Despite that, Mirage seemed to be obdurate, and did not want to seem to address the obvious pain he was in.

"Hey, Raj. Have a seat." The saboteur waved carelessly to the seat in front of him. He watched the lithe mech intently as he settled himself into the chair with a faint grimace, his pain enough to make him shutter his optics against it. "Ya sure ya're alright?"

Golden optics brightened momentarily as the former Tower mech glanced up at him. "I told you before that I am fine, Jazz."

"Ah can get Ratchet down 'ere ta check ya if ya want. Can't have ya in pain on a recon mission—Raj?"

The blue and white mech was leaning against the TIC's desk. His optics were shuttered and a deep grimace of pain was on his faceplate as he brought his servos up to rest against his forehelm, his ventilations rasping as he trembled visibly.

"Mirage?" In an instant, Jazz was on his pedes and behind the spy, placing a hesitant servo against his shoulder panel and painstakingly aware of the burning heat swirling around the mech. "Wha' is it? C'mon, mech, talk ta meh."

"It is..." The blue and white mech intaked deeply before forcing his servos down and clenching both of them into fists. "Just the...m-my processor acting out. I will be fine in a...moment."

"Ah don't have a moment." The Special Operations Commander growled, visor flashing brightly. "Raj, if ya can't handle this, then Ah'll get someone else. This mission is of top importance right now, an' Ah don't need it slagged up 'cause ya were fightin' a virus during the recon."

To his surprise, the deceptively powerful mech onlined his optics and glared at Jazz with a renewed fire. "Jazz, I said that I am fine, and I will be so long enough to conduct this mission." He scowled and bared his dentia as the mech made to protest. "I will not repeat myself, Jazz. I am fine."

Jazz narrowed his optics, internally caught between forcing a medical leave and making the mech take the mission even though he knew that he would most likely collapse on the job.

"Fine." The Polyhexian headed back to sit behind his desk, engine rumbling deeply as he glared at the defiant mech through his visor. "This is your mission."

* * *

The minute that Jazz had dismissed me, and the moment I stepped out of his office and was a far enough distance from the saboteur, that was when I relented.

I cried out, cradling my helm in my shaking servos as I stumbled and fell to my knees.

Oh, Primus—the pain. Make it stop,  _make it stop._

My tanks churned, and I barely stopped myself from purging.

I had been so close to snapping. All because of some stupid little processor ache.

Forcing myself to my pedes, I vented heavily and forced myself to continue walking. I had to get out of here. I needed space.

Before I snapped any further and attacked someone.

Grimacing as both my processor and tanks protested, I headed towards the back exit of the Autobot base.

* * *

Jazz watched as his best spy left the room. Once he was sure that the mech could not hear him, he brought a servo up to his communications link.

"Ratchet? It's Jazz. No, Ah'm fine. But Ah need a favor from ya. Could ya send meh immediate information on Mirage's most recent exams? No, it's nothin' serious, but Ah need 'em before the recon mission. Send Jolt over, would ya?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Disturbing Themes, Possible Dementia and/or Schizophrenia, Explicit Gore, Hinted Possession, Dark Alternate Universe, Torture, Sadism, Masochism, Mental Instability

Jazz vented heavily, running a servo over his faceplate as he momentarily powered down his visor.

_Slag it all. Why does Prowler need these reports so early in the mornin'? Ah could be deep in recharge by now._

The Polyhexian was torn from his fuming thoughts as a faint knock sounded on his office door.

"Jazz, sir?"

Venting heavily, the lithe white mech spoke, his voice muffled from the servo over his faceplate and from his exhaustion. "Come in."

The door hissed open, and a slim black and navy blue mech entered, wings held low behind him. He shut the door behind him with a soft click before turning to face the Third in Command. In his servos, there was a thin metal folder.

"Jolt. How ya doin'?" Jazz motioned for the mech to sit in the seat before him, rising to his pedes as the younger mech did as told.

"Fine, sir." Jazz watched the Seeker shift in discomfort, his servos tightening over the file with a faint crunch.

"Relax, mech. Ah ain't gonna bite." Jazz grinned brightly but wearily, sitting on the desk before Jolt. "Got somethin' fer meh?"

Bright orange optics burned, and the mech opened the folder, taking out a single datapad and handing it to the master saboteur. "This is the medical file you requested approximately nine point five joors ago on Mirage. Medical history, recordings of all medications taken for any illnesses, any mild to severe injuries, treatments, and illnesses, and history of some of the physicians the spy has visited are all in here."

"Some physicians?" Jazz onlined the datapad, briefly skimming through its contents. "Why is that?"

"The medical staff believes that some of the healers Mirage went to were not registered officially or legally, as they should have been." Jolt shifted in his seat, his servos clamping down on the metal beneath him. "We have come to the conclusion that some of these healers could possibly include Kaon, Vos, Pharma, and Trepan. There is evidence of electrotherapy, trepanning, and various methods used by all of the aforementioned mechs."

"Why'd he go ta them, of all healers? They're probably tha most illegal mechs out there, and' Raj ain't one ta favor all tha' illegal slag." Jazz vented heavily, visor brightening a few shades as he stared at the winged mech.

Jolt stopped shifting, tawny optics fixing on the smaller mech. "I think that is something that you should ask him yourself." At the TIC's faint growl of irritation, the navy blue and mech shrugged. "Though I may or may not know the answer to your question, I am not at liberty to say." A faint smirk crossed his faceplate as he tilted his helm. "Doctor-patient confidentiality. I am sure you understand."

Jazz stared at the mech for a long, tense moment before laughing powerfully. "Ratchet's rubbin' off on ya, ain't he?" He watched the other mech's reaction closely, noticing the faint glare of his wings and the way his talons scraped over the metal of the chair he was in; Jolt's optics burned bright, displaying his irritation.

The Polyhexian raised his servos, smirking slightly. "Hey, it ain't a bad thing. Just an observation." Jumping to his pedes, the Polyhexian stretched with a groan. "Thanks fer sendin' this down. Ah'll put it ta good use."

Jolt nodded, standing as well with a flick of his wings. He headed to the door, seemingly intent on his leaving, before he turned to stare intently at the saboteur.

"Wha' is it now?" Jazz demanded, his exhaustion making his tone harsher than he would have liked.

The CMO-in-training did not seem bothered by his tone, though, and he merely flicked his wings up and out in what could have been arrogance or irritation. "I am certain that you know this already, and if you do not then you should take to learning it." He leaned against the door frame, crossing his servos over his chest. "Elites are wary of anyone who goes snooping into their pasts, especially ones who used to be either rich through illegal means or a Neutral like Mirage was." Orange optics narrowed the slightest bit as the mech frowned. "Be careful of what you do, saboteur. The repercussions may come back to bite you."

He was gone before Jazz could even think of a response.

* * *

I was sitting on the rock cliff, staring out at the moonlight-bathed landscape beneath me.

My processor was pounding again, a resonating ache that was even worse than it had been before I had come out here. I knew I was shivering rather violently, but I did not feel cold. It was a sign that I was deteriorating, but I could honestly care less at this point.

My audios picked up the faint sound of approaching pedesteps, and I grimaced and shifted. I would have powered on my warped electromagnetic field to cloak myself, but I had not the energy to do such a thing. Instead, I had the ability to bring my knees to my chest and rest my helm against the smooth metal.

The door to my right hissed open, and pedesteps crunched and thudded lightly against the rocky ground. I knew the mech—I could tell that it was a mech by the sound and audible weight of the steps and the way he moved in general—had stopped a few feet away from me.

"Mirage?" He spoke as if to stop the silence that groaned between us, the cool air around us being torn by his rumbling voice. "We're supposed to leave soon. Jazz sent me to get you."

Ah, Hound. At times, I found myself wishing that we were more than just teammates. If I had had a friend like him—and it did not take a genius to figure out that I had no friends—I would have told him all of my secrets and thoughts and good and bad desires that I had. But, then again, my skeletons were better off locked right in their respective closets.

I smiled softly and shook my helm, my engine rumbling weakly. "I had to clear my processor before our departure. I could not do such a thing while being confined in that poor excuse for a functioning base behind us."

Hound was quiet for a brief moment, and then he was moving closer to me. I turned my helm to look at him, but there was a sudden flash of a light that sent a sharp and searing stab of pain through my processor. I made a pained noise, my throat constricting as my digits clamped down painfully tight on my armor to make the metal dig into my protoform.

The forest green scout did not seem to notice my reaction, and he chattered on in his usual cheerful tone. "Well, Jazz doesn't seem to be in a good mood. Prowl's with him right now, and you know how they get when they're together."

It was only when I tried and failed to respond to his normally amusing statement—as I would have done in any other circumstance—that Hound noticed my appearance. "Mirage? Are you alright?"

My vents flared out to release constant waves of heated air. "Bad processor ache." My appearance only solidified my declaration—I was shivering despite the heat I was radiating, my optics were dull, and my aura lacked the usual fierce and mysterious air that I would have had in normal circumstances.

"Did you talk to Ratchet about it? He could give you pain chips, you know." It almost pained me how gentle and welcoming Hound was. Where I was raised, such startlingly childlike innocence wold have been crushed mercilessly in a second.

"I cannot take them." My distaste was evident in the timbre of my voice, and I flared my armor ever so slightly to better sell the slight façade. When the scout made to protest, I shook my helm again. "To do my job efficiently, I must be as clear-minded and unwavering as I can possibly be. Although the pain medications designed by Ratchet have little to no destabilizing effect on me, even the slightest change in how my body and processor acts can negatively affect my abilities."

Hound blinked at me, his electromagnetic field displaying his confusion and concern. "Are you sure? We all have to be at our best to perform this mission, and you know Prowl will blow a gasket if—"

"No, Hound." My voice hardened, steel knives slicing through the thick fabric of the air. "I will be fine, and you will not tell Ratchet about this." I rose to my pedes, vents heaving and blasting hot air as a dark smirk appeared on my faceplates. "Unless you want a recon spy with a malfunctioning electromagnetic field."

I rose to my pedes and headed back into the base before Hound could respond.

* * *

Jazz snarled, pacing the length of the road.

"Where in the world are they?"

Prowl rumbled deeply, flicking his wings as he tapped his talons against his servo armor. "Calm yourself, Jazz. They will be here soon enough."

The Polyhexian whirled on him, visor blazing bright. "You're tha one tha's supposed ta be all strict an' stuff. Why aren't ya doin' anythin'?"

The Praxian tilted his helm, golden optics narrowing ever so slightly. "It is illogical to be concerned about such a thing. While they are behind on time and efficiency, they will no doubt be here soon." The towering mech turned away, checking the accuracy of the destination coordinates on his internal guidance system as his wings twitched and flared in the direction of the smaller mech. "They will show up. If they do not, they will have indefinite brig time and repeat shifts, and I know that they do not want that."

Sunstreaker appeared behind the Polyhexian, the light glinting off of his golden armor. "Sir. Hound just contacted me. He and Mirage are on their way."

"Understood. You may leave." Prowl was unresponsive as the former gladiator grunted in sullen acquiescence and left without a sound. But as soon as the frontliner left, the Praxian vented heavily, running a servo over his faceplate as he leaned against the door frame and splayed his wings wide.

"Ya alright?" Jazz moved closer to the larger mech, placing a cool and clawed servo against the broader one of the SIC.

"I am...in a sufficient condition." The black mech flicked his wings, engine rumbling deeply.

"Not 'nough recharge?" The Polyhexian trailed his claws down the sleek and thick armor of the larger mech, his visor burning bright. "Ya need ta take better care o' yaself."

Prowl's mouthplates twitched and his optics flickered. "One would think that your words would have more importance if I took your advice." His wings twitched and he straightened, optics narrowing and darkening a few shades.

The sound of approaching pedesteps reached them, and then Hound and Mirage appeared in the doorway. The scout's golden optics were bright with his normal happiness, and he moved with an upbeat jolt in his steps.

Both Jazz and Prowl narrowed their optics as they saw the appearance of the spy, however. The former elite mech seemed as fragile and drained as he had in the hours before, and he was grimacing faintly as he seemingly forced himself to move.

"Sorry we're late, sir." Hound assumed the normal position at attention, electromagnetic field rippling to reveal his respect and acceptance. "Mirage needed to take care of some things."

"These things could not wait until we returned from the trip?"Prowl demanded, wings rising to his current position of authority as he stared intently down at the two mechs.

"Aw, relax, Prowl. They showed, didn't they?" Sideswipe appeared, crimson armor bright and all but glowing in the sunlight. His twin glided in after him without a sound, dark optics narrow as he crossed his servos over his broad chest and he murmured something to his brother.

"I did not ask for your opinion, soldier." The Second in Command motioned for the other Autobots to move closer with a flick of his wings. "You will be observing the supposedly abandoned Energon mines belonging to our enemies and report back to Optimus, myself, and Jazz. Should there be any trouble, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe will take care of it—effectively, sufficiently, and _very_ quietly—and they will alert Mirage and Hound to any surrounding or approaching dangers." He narrowed his optics to dangerous slits as he fixed his stare onto the twins, who merely looked up and shrugged before going on with their conversation. "Is that understood?"

Sideswipe nodded eagerly, bouncing on the heels of his pedes as he twitched in restlessness. "Yessir, yessir! Now can we please get going?"

* * *

"You said that you wanted to see me?"

Ratchet turned to face the owner of the voice, and he was greeted with the sight of the tall and lean frame of Chromedome. He seemed unusually irritated and anxious, shifting his weight from pede to pede as he stared coldly at the medic.

The medic nodded, motioning with a servo to the nearest medical berth. "Sit."

The mnemosurgeon frowned slightly but followed the order, his golden optics flickering. "May I ask what this is about?"

"I'll get straight to the point." The red and white mech crossed his servos over his chest, narrowing his optics. "Why are you illegally registered as a former healer for Mirage?"

Chromedome tensed, optics flashing beneath his visor as a faint whine came from his engine. "What do you mean?"

Ratchet gave a grim laugh, turning to rummage through a drawer and tossing a folder at the blue and silver mech. "You know exactly what I mean. Why did you perform mnemosurgery on Mirage?"

The larger mech's mouthplates pressed together in a thin and tight line as he clenched his servos into fists. "Even you understand the matter of doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Why are you so tense?" Ratchet pressed, leaning towards the other mech, enough to make him uncomfortable and more agitated. "Do you have something to hide?"

Chromedome's engine growled, and his servos trembled as his armor flared in an aggressive ripple. "It was from my past, Ratchet. You know that it is something I do not like talking about."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Would you feel better talking to Rung about it, then?" Ratchet smirked internally as he saw that he had struck a nerve. He crouched down so he was in front of the trembling mech. "Just tell me what happened, and this will all be over."

"No." The blue mech scowled, shaking his helm roughly. "I can't." His ventilations were starting to come faster, hoarse and seemingly painful as his armor rippled.

Ratchet narrowed his optics, frowning deeply. "If you won't talk to me, I will have Prowl or Jazz interrogate you, or maybe even Ironhide, if you want. I think Whirl's been a bit too antsy lately, too. Maybe he'll calm down if he gets to vent properly."

Chromedome shot to his pedes suddenly, dentia bared in a feral snarl as he glared almost manically at the medic. "You will do no such thing!" He was venting harshly, sending waves of heated air throughout the room. "They will kill me, Ratchet! They are watching now, watching me now, all the time, and they will know if I talk!"

"Who, Chromedome? Who will know? Who is threatening you?" The doctor remained resilient and stubborn, optics bright with a mixture of anger and concern.

But the blue mech was not listening, and his needles had extended in his agitation as he tapped them together in an unrecognizable, shakily staccato rhythm. "I can't. Can't tell. I shouldn't have told you anything."

Ratchet stared at the younger mech, glancing particularly at his hands, knowing the damage those needles had done and could do. "I just need you to tell me why we found evidence of mnemosurgery on Mirage."

"I'm not the only one." Chromedome was rocking back and forth now, golden optics burning and brightening the shadows on his face. "I'm not the only one. You know that. I'm not th-the only one."

Pinching two digits over his nasal ridge, the doctor knelt down in front of the shaking mech. "Listen to me, Chromedome. I know you are not the only one. But right now, you're the only mnemosurgeon that we have access to. And we need your help. Both for your and Mirage's sakes."

Chromedome groaned, shaking his helm as he clenched his servos into fists, uncaring of his long needles as they slashed the soft protoform of his palms. "I won't be able to, Ratchet. It's...it's too much. I will barely be able to speak, let alone stay up there."

"I'm not asking you to give a soliloquy, Chromedome. I'm just asking you to—"

"—you are not asking me to do anything! You are _demanding,_ not asking!" The mnemosurgeon's optics were wild, and his dentia were bared while his needles were poised to carve into metal flesh. "You think I can't tell the difference? You think I'm as dimwitted as the others?"

Ratchet frowned, narrowing his optics. "What others? Who are you talking about?"

"I can't tell you. Not you, not anyone. Especially not you." Chromedome rose to his pedes, shaking his helm repeatedly as if to clear his mind from a daze. "I'm leaving. I'm leaving now."

The medic growled, throwing his servos in the air. "Chromedome, don't make me enforce—"

"Enforce?" The mnemosurgeon laughed deeply, a strange light burning in his optics. "You are only a medic, and no matter what you believe, I am perfectly well." Chromedome's wild grin vanished as soon as it had appeared. "I am not the only one who has a dark past, Ratchet. The spy is far worse, and if you don't get out now, I promise that what you find will not be pleasing."

Before the doctor could respond, the scientist was already heading towards the door.

* * *

An eerie silence stretched across the land, filling every available crevice and overwhelming the senses.

I shifted silently, my ventilations coming out soft and heavy as I refocused my optics. The ache in the back of my processor had dulled slightly, enough so that I was not wincing whenever the slightest sound occurred near me.

 _/Raj, you got anything yet?/_ Sideswipe's voice tore me from my thoughts, and I sighed internally. He seemed to be unable to take a hint.

 _/No, Sideswipe, there has been nothing in the two minutes since you last contacted me./_ My irritation was clear and as sharp as ever, and I clenched my servos into fists as I continued to survey the Energon mine below us.

I could all but see the crimson mech throwing his servos into the air. _/Yeah, well, this wouldn't happen again if you bothered to actually find something./_

My engine rumbled faintly in my thinly veiled irritation. _/Tell me, Sideswipe, is this one of those times where I am supposed to lie to protect your delicate emotions? Because I can assure you, I am glad to send you in without knowing what's on the other side and see your ridiculously colored aft blown sky-high./_

 _/Mirage, don't you think that's a little harsh?/_ Hound's voice sounded, filled with concern and shock. _/Sideswipe is just being himself, is all./_

I hesitated for a moment before replying. _/I cannot work with someone who has to make everything a joke. Every mission we take, our lives are on the line, and he just lounges around like some pit-spawned lagger while the rest of us_ _—/_

 _/All of you, be quiet!/_ Sunstreaker's deep, growling voice erupted in my audial, and I winced and turned my communications link down to a lower volume. _/Mirage, keep doing your job. Sideswipe, leave him alone or you're gonna wish we weren't twins!/_

_/What_ _—? He was the one who started it!/_

_/Oh, I'm gonna start something if you don't shut that slag-eating—/_

I grimaced and shut off the link before the twins' bickering further aggravated my processor ache. Venting softly, I shut my optics and steadied my spark rate to calm myself down. It was a meditation technique I had learned from my tutor back in the Towers.

Kneeling down on the leaf-blanketed ground, I spread out my electromagnetic field and shifted the weight of my rifle to my other servo. The weapon gleamed in the light, and I scowled as the glare made my scanners momentarily protest. The tips of my digits glided effortlessly over the smooth metal, and I felt a strange sense of peace overcome me.

A flash of light caught my optic, and then I was moving into position, keeping my gaze fixed on the supposedly abandoned mine beneath me.

Out of the shadows, a large figure appeared. It was a mech, tall and lithe and strong, with blue and black armor and piercing crimson optics. Large wings fanned out wide behind him, and his faceplate was distorted into an expression that showed his irritation.

 _/Thundercracker just exited the mine./_ My voice was cold and precise, fixed into the calm drone I used when entering or in a battle.

 _/Finally, some action!/_ Sideswipe's engine revved through the link, and I bared my dentia as static flickered in and out of my vision.

 _/You are not to do anything unless you are ordered./_ I kept my tone carefully devoid of emotion even as I wanted to snap at the frontliner. _/Thundercracker poses no harm to us as of this moment./_

As if to contradict my statement, the Seeker before me tensed as his wings rose to a dangerous height. His mouthplates curled back in a snarl as his servo transformed into a high power blaster as his crimson optics surveyed the land.

 _/Maintain your positions. The subject is wary. Do not approach until further orders are given./_ I was beginning to tremble, and my concentration was slipping as my core temperature increased. I growled internally and shook my helm. Now was not the time, not when we were so close.

My attention was captured once again as the Decepticon Seeker began to prowl the area. The faint staticky haze filling the area made me realize that he was scanning the place for intruders.

 _/Slag it, I think he's onto us./_ Hound's worried rumble tore through the static-laced haze covering my processor, and I let out an unsteady vent and forced my racing spark to calm. _/I'm going to move back. Be careful not to_ _—/_

A pained cry erupted over the communications link, making my already agitated sensors scream in discomfort. My inhibitor field wavered, and I forced myself to regain control—I could not afford to have my location compromised.

 _/Hello?/_ A strangely pitched, lilting voice droned over the shared communications line, making all of us tense. _/I know you little Autobots are there. Were you spying on us? You know, it's not nice to spy./_

The mech began to laugh wildly, a crazed and overwhelming cackle that made static crackle over the line. _/Your little scout here may not make it in time. You should really come and get him before my trine decides to have a little fun with him./_

I growled as Skywarp hung up, clenching my servos into fists as heat raced throughout my frame. Had they dared to capture one of my teammates and hold him hostage?

 _/Sideswipe, remain where you are and be ready to fire on my command. Sunstreaker, head around the back of the mine and wait for further instructions./_ I vented heavily, attempting to cool down my overheating frame.

 _/Did we ever actually put you in charge?/_ Sideswipe muttered, but by the lingering rumble of his engines, I could tell he was forcing himself to stay still.

Sunstreaker growled roughly, a resonant and deep noise that made me flinch. /Quit _complaining and do what he says so we can get this over with. I need to polish my paint again and this forest isn't helping anything./_

The golden twin shut off the link, no doubt focusing on not damaging his paint any further. With another heavy vent, I rose to my pedes and headed out to meet Sunstreaker.

* * *

The Autobot Lieutenant watched as Mirage and Hound turned and strode away, heading off to prepare for their mission. Beside him, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were bickering over some useless and irrelevant matter, their voices continually rising in volume as Jazz began to usher them away.

"Sunstreaker." Prowl's cold, detached baritone cut through the twins' chatter and both of them turned to look at the Praxian. Jazz stood nearby, his visor burning brightly.

The large golden mech frowned, narrowing his optics as he tilted his helm. "Yes?"

The Lieutenant flicked his wings, nodding minutely at the Polyhexian standing by the two. "A word in private, if you will?"

Sunstreaker glanced at his twin, and Sideswipe only shrugged and motioned to their waiting superior with a flourish. Golden armor flaring out slightly, the former gladiator approached the larger mech with a hint of caution.

Prowl stared impassively at the mech, gauging his reaction silently. "You need not be so tense. I only wish to inform you about another task your team must do."

"Another task? Then wouldn't it make sense to have everyone here?" Sunstreaker's frown deepened as he tilted his helm, the light catching on his audio horns as he shifted his weight from one pede to the other.

Prowl shook his helm, flicking a wing in a gesture that could mean exhaustion, irritation, or impatience—of the three, Sunstreaker was unsure.

His attention was drawn back to the Lieutenant as a choice set of words stirred his interest.

"This task pertains only to you."

Turning away, the Praxian gazed out into the sunlit world before them, the light reflecting in his golden optics. "You are to observe Mirage during the mission and report to Optimus, myself, and Jazz immediately after the post-mission team briefing. You will mentally record dialogue, supposed mentality, and physical movements—be they reflexes, impairments, or enhancements of any kind—and you will be prepared to debrief us on the outcomes."

"With all due respect," the golden mech growled, "You don't usually trust my brother and I. Why are you giving me this task when Hound could do it?"

"You know that I am not assigning your twin any tasks for a long time," the Praxian rumbled, his mouthplates twitching briefly into something reminiscent of a scowl. "Hound is far too emotionally attached to perform such a task, and I am only choosing you because your dislike for me will force you to prove that you can follow a meaningless order."

Sunstreaker scowled, his engine growling roughly as he narrowed his optics to slits. "Meaningless? Do you really regard Mirage as something irrelevant?"

"I do not know." Prowl's optics darkened as he stared down at the warrior before him. "Perhaps you will be able to prove me wrong."

A large, disturbing grin curled back the former gladiator's mouthplates, and his optics flashed with a vicious determination. "You thought I would turn down the chance to prove you, of all mechs, wrong? You must be dreaming." He turned and loped off after his brother, waving a servo in the air. "I'll do it, but you had better have something to pay me back with."

Prowl frowned as the mech left, fanning out his wings as he crossed his servos. "You are far too predictable for my liking, frontliner."

With a nearly inaudible vent, the Lieutenant headed back into the base to file a preliminary report.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah...this is long. Sorry if that bothers anyone. I usually try to keep the word count consistent. Read and review, and let me know if there are any errors or concerns!


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